Whiting: Run for the Wall heads into stormy weather

Run for the Wall rider Skip Hetterscheidt (left) shows the gadgets on his motorcycle to Lane Hass, 5, a resident of Concordia, Mo., during a lunch break. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Residents of Concordia, Mo., line the streets as riders on Run for the Wall shout thank yous while leaving town after a lunch celebration. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Ken Klemm (left) dishes out breakfast pastry to Carleen Moore at the armory in Goodland, Kan. Klemm is a local bison rancher. Moore was born in Orange County and grew up in Orange. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Colter Klemm, son of Laurie and Ken Klemm, a bison rancher, pours morning coffee for the riders on Run for the Wall at the armory in Goodland, Kan. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Wilma Gray of Oakley, Kan., dishes out potato salad at a lunch for the riders on Run for the Wall. Gray is president of the local Veterans of Foreign Wars auxiliary. DAVID WHITING., ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Wilma Gray of Oakley, Kan., dishes out potato salad at a lunch for the riders on Run for the Wall. Gray is president of the local Veterans of Foreign Wars auxiliary. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Frank Munk, a Vietnam veteran, cleans the grill at a lunch in Oakley, Kan., for riders on Run for the Wall. Munk raised $3,000 from local business for hamburgers and hot dogs for more than 600 riders. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Bob Hatcher (right), an honor guard for Run for the Wall and a Tustin resident discusses riding tactics with Larry Gritzinger (left) before heading into a thunder storm in Kansas. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Residents of Concordia, Mo., line the streets as riders on Run for the Wall shout thank yous while leaving town after a lunch celebration. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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An honor guard watches over festivities welcoming Run For The Wall Riders to Wentzville, Mo. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

Run for the Wall rider Skip Hetterscheidt (left) shows the gadgets on his motorcycle to Lane Hass, 5, a resident of Concordia, Mo., during a lunch break. DAVID WHITING, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

WENTZVILLE, Mo. – Just as an Army travels on its stomach, veterans riding across America to the Vietnam memorial wall travel on the graciousness of volunteers.

In small town after small town, many of those who have been hit hardest by the recent recession dig deep, put on bake sales, have church fundraisers to help those who served their country carry out a mission of healing called Run for the Wall.

Bob Hatcher, Tustin resident and Run honor guard, explains that without the assistance, many of the veterans on the 11-day, 3,000-mile journey couldn't afford the trip.

But the gifts of food, gasoline and shelter aren't just a one-sided affair. With only half the trip over, I've already seen thousands of people delighted, even honored to help with the veterans' mission.

Their smiles are no small thing. The joy is proof that the patriotism and pride in America that we sometimes think of as a thing of the past is as strong as ever.

I know firsthand. If it weren't for the generosity of the Crutcher family, the computer this column is written on would have been destroyed by the epic thunderstorms that are sweeping the Midwest.

Go on a road trip across this great nation and roll into a place such as the very appropriately named Goodland, Kan., on a motorcycle with little more than a tent, a sleeping bag and a pad and you will find more than a home.

You will find family.

Embedded with the veterans, I wake at 5:30 a.m. on the concrete floor on the local armory to the smell of sizzling sausage – yet breakfast isn't supposed be for another half-hour. A bright-eyed volunteer tells sleepy me that locals were worried we might be hungry.

Mind you, these are the same people who fed us and practically tucked us in just hours ago.

As I sip a cup of very fine coffee, I chat with some of the volunteers to find out why someone would help buy enough food to feed more then 600 people, get up in the dark and cook something for complete strangers that they might be better off giving to their children.

Wearing a black cowboy hat and suspenders, Ken Klemm, a bison rancher, pauses as his ever-present smile grows into a grin. It's his first time talking to a newspaper person, and he wants to express something deep in his heart just right.

"I can't serve in the service," Klemm says, "but I can serve those that did."

Klemm's isn't just a beautiful statement. It's a way of life for many.

Klemm is here with his son, Colter – in a white cowboy hat – and his wife, Laurie. She explains she wanted to come to "see people who bring honor to our country. It means a lot to us."

It also means a lot of money.

• • •

With gas at $4 a gallon, a cross-country trip doesn't come cheap even on a motorcycle.

Many of the veterans camp to save money and have debilitating injuries that have only gotten worse as they've aged. Some have lost homes during the recession.

But remember that family thing? Much of the time, gasoline is paid for by local Veteran of Foreign Wars or American Legion posts.

Consider on Ride for the Wall we average around 100 miles between pit stops and the average tank fill costs about $10. Multiply that by 500 motorcycles – a number that grows as we travel. That comes out to $5,000.

Now consider that many of the VFW and American Legion veterans are in the same situation as the ones they're helping.

We take care of our own – no matter what.

• • •

With motors roaring, we arrive in Oakley, population 2,045, a figure which hasn't changed much in more than a half-century.

Correction: A native son was killed in Afghanistan last week.

In Oakley, a town that boasts the Fick Fossil & History Museum, the median household income is $30,781.

Yet admission to the museum is free. And so is lunch for 600 motorcyclists.

Wilma Gray, 88, is in charge of the potato salad and buzzes among tables ensuring everyone has plenty. In between putting big spoonfuls of potatoes on plates, she agrees to talk. Gray tells me her husband served in World War II, that he has passed, and that she is president of the local Veteran of Foreign Wars auxiliary – membership eight.

She and the ladies are in charge of the cookies – which means they bough them with money from their own purses.

And the meat? Oh, Gray tells me, you have to talk to Frank Munk about that.

I find Munk eating a hamburger under a pine tree, on break from helping with grilling. Munk is a man of short sentences and large ideas.

A Vietnam veteran, Munk came up with the idea to ask local business to chip in to buy burgers and dogs. It wasn't easy, but eventually he raised $3,000 – just enough to feed the riders.

As Munk talks, the smell of cooked hamburger mixes with something I have not smelled since living in Michigan decades ago – the fragrance of fields of green as far as the eye can see.

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The next night, lightning tears across the sky above Wentzville, Mo., as police, VFW members, firefighters and local elected officials hurry to fix dinner for Run for the Wall riders.

We rode through rain the day before, but this storm promises to be epic. There is a tornado warning in effect and a massive storm covers several states. With an unusually high number of riders crashing and two hospitalized in the last few days, the fearsome clouds are especially worrisome for those camping.

That would include me.

Suddenly, raindrops the size of peas hammer us like hail. I struggle to protect my computer, camera and other electrical gear.

Suddenly, Pat Crutcher appears and invites me and my riding partner to spend the night at his home. I jump into his Blazer. The storm is so intense, we can't see or hear one another talk.

Safe in Crutcher's home, I marvel at his massive stone fireplace. Crutcher mentions he built his home. Wondering if that means he contracted out the work, I ask if he built the house with his own hands.

Crutcher, petting one of his five dogs – he also has 70 chickens and one pig -- looks at me oddly. Then he understands my question – or thinks he does.

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